Rant: Ass Chappers

Lets talk about things that are chapping my ass today, shall we? What is the deal with people trying to eat out of my plate? That’s rude. That’s unsanitary. That’s just gross and, as Aline found out, it will get you stabbed in the hand with my spork. Do people not get it? I’m fat. I don’t share. I’m a fatty that doesn’t share and will CUT you if you eat out of my plate.

What’s the deal with immigrants crying “You’re discriminating against me because I’m not from the United States and I don’t speak Engligh?” I didn’t turn off your service because you aren’t from here. I didn’t cut off your service because you speak Spanish. I cut off your service because you didn’t pay your flipping bill.

What’s up with the passive aggressive beyotch vibe that people are exhibiting? I miss the old fashioned days when people said what they felt. Don’t be overtly beyotch-y. Be upfront about it. I’d probably like you better and be more inclined to do what you want. News Flash: the silent treatment won’t work on me. I don’t want to hear you talk anyway, so your silence is nirvana for me.

Did my apartment complex *really* think I would renew my lease when I can get a 2 bedroom, 2 bath for $50.00 cheaper than what they’re charging me for a 1 bedroom, 1 bath? The new complex has a volleyball court, a tennis court, 2 pools with jacuzzis, saunas, a gym with flat screen tvs, on site maintenance, and it’s right across the street from my job. Did you honestly think you could compete? No need to tell you how hard I laughed when I got off the phone.

Know what else is chapping my ass? T.V. Let’s start with Lost. I have to wait until next year to find out what the heck happened to my beloved Juliet. I could care less what happens to Izzie or George on Grey’s Anatomy. It’s hard to get invested when you can see the contract negotiations on all the gossip sites. I want to know what happened to Poppy on Gossip Girl because Georgina is the devil and I want to know how she can be Blair’s roommate at NYU when Michelle Trachtenburg is getting her own series on NBC. I’m trying to figure out why I stopped watching Ugly Betty. I’m trying to decide if I want to watch Flash Forward. Now I’m up in arms about if I would want to know the future. Stupid trailers. Why do you have to make me think?

I will be evil and grumpy until next spring when Lost comes back on and I refuse to acknowledge that it will be the last season. If I didn’t have the DVD’s, you would see me on the nightly news. And please, don’t even get me started about the demise of Guiding Light, how many people I will hurt if my TnT addiction (that’s Todd and Tea on One Life to Live) doesn’t play out the way I want it to, or how who I want to strangle for killing off Stuart Chandler on All My Children. I refuse to think about the decline of my beloved General Hospital and the ABC executives that I will slaughter if they get rid of Lucky Spencer. Take note, alphabet network execs, if you get rid of my eye candy, there will be an international incident of epic proportions. There won’t just be a disturbance in The Force. I will eat the whole frocking Force for lunch…….

State of the Union: Crabby as Hell
Listening to: Long December by Counting Crows

Edited: June 1st, 2009

École: Yup

So I decided not to go to Columbia. I had to weigh being in debt for the rest of my life paying $40,000 a year against my need to have a piece of parchment that says Columbia University on it. Yes, I could ask my dad for the money, but I want to do this on my own. I want to prove that I can make it on my own. I want to be able to say that I put myself through college. I don’t want to live under his thumb and have to account for every dime I spend and justify every decision I make. I have been told that this is not the smartest move to make.

I honestly didn’t think I’d get in and the only reason I applied was to shut my dad up about it. I applied there when I was in high school, got in, and turned it down over a boy (don’t all tragedies in my life center around a boy?). My friend, Tim, said that I’m a fool. He said I am the only fool that he knows that got accepted and turned down Columbia twice. He also said that only people raised with money make blanket statements like, “I want to prove,” “I need to show,” or “I want the world to see.” I told him to suck it. My dad wasn’t around as much as he thinks he was (weird, ain’t it, how parents rewrite history when they don’t like how *they* behaved at a particular moment in time, but go out of their way to ram *you* over the head with your bad behavior). My mama raised me and the Dimebox way of life is hard work and sacrifice.

I made this decision with a clear conscious. I made it taking me, what I want, what I need, into consideration. I didn’t factor in any guy (Richard thinks I’m nuts to turn down getting to live in New York City.) I didn’t think about my family. I thought about me. I’m getting a fine education where I am, I can visit New York City anytime I want to, and I don’t have to deal with cold weather or bulky winter clothing. No matter how hard I try to flee, I can’t get away from Austin.

And, deep down inside, I guess I really *do* bleed burnt orange. Hook ‘em.

State of the Union: Proud

Listening to: Off I Go by Greg Laswell

Edited: June 1st, 2009

Dating Diaries: Him

He occupies a lot of my free time. I can’t blame him, though, for my lack of discipline this semester. It’s a lot of things. I have no focus. It’s just gone. My study schedule went up in a flame of dust this semester. I haven’t been hanging out with my cronies as much as I used to. I haven’t been on My Space or Facebook that much. I haven’t gone dancing in forever. I don’t blog nearly as much anymore. I’m doing homework. I’m at his house. I’m watching t.v. while thinking about all the homework I should be doing. I also realized, now that I don’t go out that much anymore, that I used to spend a goodly portion of time knocking back drinks with my friends in bars and pubs. Not getting sloshed, mind you, just chilling.

I spend the majority of my time at his house sleeping. He’s normally watching a movie (which we all know I don’t have the attention span for when it’s dark and cold) or he’s playing video games. I’m reading, doing homework, or sleeping, but mostly sleeping. He has a very comfortable bed and he’s my life size “boy pillow.” It’s kind of nice being constantly adored. It makes me a little nervous sometimes, though, but I guess that’s just typical. You wish and wish for something and then you get it and you still can’t be happy. I need lessons in being happy.

Anyway, here are some pictures of Princess Dynamite and her Cutey Consort.

This is us at the start of our first road trip.

He took this picture when we were in Padre. It was very windy.

This is the first, and probably last, documented evidence of me doing PDA with anyone.

This is me at the USS Lexington in Corpus Christi. There’s something about ships that just makes me horny.

This is one of my favorite pictures. He was hot, so he stripped down to his undershirt. That’s the difference between men and women. Women will suffer for fashion.

This was taken the day after he told me he loved me for the first time. That’s when I really started panicking in my mind. Crazy shit always ensues after men tell me that. If I wouldn’t look so conspicuous, I would start sleeping with a bat. I keep having dreams that he will freak out and go crazy like Jack Nicholson in the Shining…..

State of the Union: Perturbed, but surprisingly upbeat

Listening to: Chasing Pavements by Adele

Edited: June 1st, 2009

Boob Tube: All Right, Now….

My friend told me that they were naming a whole t.v. show after me and, like the dummy I am, I clicked on the link.

Not funny. I am NOT a fricking COUGAR. I will, however, watch this show.

State of the Union: Slightly amused
Listening to: Off I Go by Greg Laswell

Edited: June 1st, 2009

Dating Diaries: Dating Nirvana?

You ever wish and wish to get something and then, when you do, you don’t know what to do with it? I’ve been dating this boy for a while now. He is a departure from the guys that I normally date. He’s not a butthole, for one thing. He’s kind and considerate and he’s always making me laugh. He’s not tall, dark, and handsome. He doesn’t look like an Abercrombie model. He’s not a cowboy. He doesn’t drive a Mercedes or a diesel truck. I picked a Mexican that doesn’t speak Spanish, that doesn’t particularly care for Mexican food, listens to Hip Hop, and wears clothes from South Pole.

Said boy goes to eat Mexican food only because I love it, calls and texts when he says he will, and is willing to wear a button down and grow some scruff on his chin just because I like it. He curtails his nasty little smoking habit because I’m allergic. He doesn’t ask anything of me, he doesn’t expect me to be anyone but me, and he actually likes spending time with me. He’s seen me be bitchtastic and he still stuck around. He even got nervous when he met my Mama and Daddy on Easter.

Why am I so nervous? I keep waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. I keep waiting for him to turn into some kind of monster that beats women, kicks puppies, and steals from little old ladies. I keep waiting to find out that he’s messing around with three other girls, that he’s living under an assumed name since he’s wanted for murder, or that he’s a crazy, pervy stalker that’s going to hop put of the trees with a knife on me. I keep waiting for him to turn into Ike Turner. Yes, I am *that* jaded.

He’s sensitive, he actually listens to what I say, he wants to go everywhere with me, he pulls over and asks for directions when he’s lost, and he is willing to do anything that makes me happy, even if he doesn’t like it. He’s even willing to go to Rodeo with me, knowing that he doesn’t like the music or particularly care for the people that go there (See said video a couple of entries down and you will realize that he is soooo not the typical Rodeo man). He has me listening to Hippety Hop. He has me playing Guitar Hero. He has me going outdoors voluntarily.

What does that say about me that I can’t fully enjoy the time that we spend together because I am constantly on the lookout for him to morph into an uncaring, unfeeling, selfish, meat-headed bastard? What does that say about me that I keep looking for hidden faults, for some kind of chink in his oh-so-perfect sensitive boyfriend armor? He’s the boyfriend I dreamed about and I can’t even accept it at face value. It would be one thing if he actually did something to merit this suspended disbelief that I possess, but he’s done nothing and that makes my neuroticism all the more baffling and pronounced.

It is a sad, sad day when you realize that you’ve denigrated yourself so much and put up with so much bullshit that you honestly don’t remember how to be in a happy, functioning relationship anymore.

State of the Union: Little sad
Listening to: Everybody Knows by John Legend

Edited: June 1st, 2009

École: Say Whaaaaa??????

I got into Columbia University.
My head is going to explode.

Edited: June 1st, 2009

Amigos: Why I Love to Go to Rodeo

Rodeo is one of the most fun places to go when you are trashed. Yes, the men are on the short side. Yes, they will hit on you even if their wife is standing next to them (Most of the time, the wifey doesn’t understand English, so cheating dog husband feels free to say whatever he wants). Yes, it is a little on the seedy side, but that’s why I love it.

Why do I love Rodeo? Because I like to dance to sonideros. I love Rodeo because I can go in there with no money and come out drunk as a skunk because Mexican men get offended if you won’t let them buy you a drink (The same men get offended if you offer to buy them a drink because a real man doesn’t take money from a woman). I love Rodeo because people wear the most MESSED up fashions, so you always have someone to make fun of, and there is always some drama going on for you to ooh and aah over.

Main reason why I love Rodeo? My friends are insanely fun. Or crazy. It’s open to interpretation.

In my defense, I was really, really wasted and thought I was holding the camera upright.

State of the union: Happy
Listening to: Down – Rakim y Ken-Y

Edited: June 1st, 2009

Bloggedy Blogger: Where Do We Go From Here?

I know that a lot of people are mirror posting on various sites. Let me know which site you want me to comment on. One comment from me is enough, eh?

State of the Union: Dreary like the weather
Listening to: Blur by Britney Spears

Edited: June 1st, 2009

Amigos: Modern Day Cowboy

My friend, Colleen, sent this to me.

A modern day cowboy has spent many days crossing the Texas plains without water. His horse has already died of thirst. He’s crawling through the sand, certain that he has breathed his last breath, when all of a sudden he sees an object sticking out of the sand several yards ahead of him…..

He crawls to the object, pulls it out of the sand, and discovers what looks to be an old briefcase. He opens it and out pops a genie. But this is no ordinary genie. She is wearing a FEMA (Federal Emergency Management Agency) ID badge and a dull gray dress.There’s a calculator in her pocketbook. She has a pencil tucked behind one ear.

‘Well, cowboy,’ says the genie.. ‘You know how I work….You have three wishes.’
‘I’m not falling for this,’ said the cowboy… ‘I’m not going trust a FEMA genie…’
‘What do you have to lose? You’ve got no transportation, and it looks like you’re a goner anyway!’
The cowboy thinks about this for a minute, and decides that the genie is right.
‘OK!, I wish I were in a lush oasis with plenty of food and drink.’
***POOF***
The cowboy finds himself in the most beautiful oasis he has ever seen, and he is surrounded with jugs of wine and platters of delicacies.
‘OK, cowpoke, what’s your second wish?’
‘My second wish is that I was rich beyond my wildest dreams.’
***POOF***
The cowboy finds himself surrounded by treasure chests filled with rare gold coins and precious gems.
‘OK, cowpuncher, you have just one more wish. Better make it a good one!’
After thinking for a few minutes, the cowboy says…… ‘I wish that no matter where I go, beautiful women will want and need me..’
***POOF***
He was turned into a tampon..

The moral of the story: If the government offers to help you,there’s going to be a string attached.

State of the Union: Actually thinking about the moral. How sad.
Listening to: Naked Eyes by the Stephen Clay Experience (Slade, you know where that comes from, right?)

Edited: June 1st, 2009

Rant: You Get What You Get

The moral of today’s lesson is: don’t take on a project and expect to get thanked for taking on the extra responsibility and people will not appreciate anything you do because they think they can do it better. It’s a fact of life. Oh, but I’m putting the cart ahead of the horse. Let me backtrack.

I volunteer for the Junior League. Yes, how Southern of me. One of the girls is a chronic complainer. She has all these ideas of how to make things better, she thinks she can do everything better, and she comes up with all these plans, yet she complains about having to do the work required to make all her ideas come to fruition. I chaired the Hunger Drive last year and this chick was the #1 Grouser, so this year, I decided to sit back and let her do the work for a change.

She stepped up and I sat back to watch. It only took her two weeks and she saw what I had been dealing with the year before: everyone had an idea of what they wanted to do, but no one wanted to put in the effort or time to make it work. She got stuck working long hours with no one to help her. Everyone had a plethora of excuses for why they couldn’t show up or help out. Her efforts were criticized and picked apart. Then, when she complained about it, she got the same response I did: You signed up for it; Deal with it.

You get what you get. You have to make the best out of what you have to work with. If I was an evil person, I would have done her like she did me: I would have left her to her own devices and let her sink or swim on her own. I would have made fun of her behind her back. I probably would have made veiled references to her ineptitude on MySpace the way she did me and had all my friends join in. Heck, I probably would have made a scathing blog about her and had all of you trash her. If I’d have been a true bitch, I would have made sure that it wasn’t friends only where she could read it and be humiliated.

But I can honestly say that a year does make a difference. This past year has truly changed me. Am I a goody goody froo froo feel good person now? Absolutely not. I have, however, learned to look at things from both sides. I think this experience has taught her to do the same because she apologized to me. She said that she understood why I was so frustrated last year. She told me that she took some of my comments the wrong way (which people are wont to do when they don’t know a person very well) and, instead of seeing that I was asking questions for clarification, saw it as me challenging her.

I think that some of the mothering and understanding that I get from some of you has rubbed off on me (You know who you are as the three of you made my top friends on MySpace). That is the only reason I can think of for why I am waking up at the buttcrack of dawn during Spring Break to help her distribute fliers.

State of the Union: Surprisingly upbeat considering this was supposed to be a rant
Listening to: Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood by Nina Simone

Edited: June 1st, 2009